


Tale as Old as Time

by aaahha



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, takes place in 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4758269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaahha/pseuds/aaahha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m sorry,” Martin said. “I didn’t see him. He’s breathing, but I think he’s really hurt.”</p><p>“We need to get him to a vet,” the man said, his voice hoarse. He gathered the dog into his arms, the headlights illuminating his face.  From the edge of his mouth – and covering most of his cheek – was a jagged scar. Pink and stretched and disappearing under his baseball cap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from that Beauty and the Beast song. May change if I think of a better one.
> 
> Thanks to lj's elf-md for beta-reading.

The radio announcer droned on and Martin yawned, not halfway into his thirty-minute drive home. Warding off a shiver – he should’ve worn something warmer than a hoodie – he turned up the heat and changed the station. In the distance, emergency lights flashed and Martin slowed down, the car skidding on the slippery asphalt before it came to a stop.

Cops directed traffic up the adjoining street, squad cars blocking the path behind them. Martin turned and through the grime on the passenger window, he glimpsed the bent bumper of a Honda. No one seemed to be hurt though.

Halfway down a residential street, Martin stifled another yawn. A shadow came from out of nowhere. It was as if it materialized in the middle of the street. Martin slammed on the brakes, the pedal pulsing under his foot. Heart in his throat. Tires screeching in his ears. With a thump, the car stopped.

Jesus.

Hands trembling, he pushed the car-door open. His steps slowed when he spotted the Doberman lying on the glistening street. The dog whimpered. “Shit. Oh, no. No. No.” He leant down and took a deep breath. “Please be okay,” he whispered, and cradled the Doberman’s head. When that appeared to be all right, he stroked down the dog’s side. His hand came away wet. He swiveled on his haunches. 

A skinny man jogged toward them. The shadow his baseball cap cast hid his face and Martin couldn’t see his expression.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said. “I didn’t see him. He’s breathing, but I think he’s really hurt.”

“We need to get him to a vet,” the man said, his voice hoarse. He gathered the dog into his arms, the headlights illuminating his face. From the edge of his mouth – and covering most of his cheek – was a jagged scar. Pink and stretched and disappearing under his baseball cap.

When the Doberman whined, Martin sprang to his feet. “Get in. Animal hospital’s not that far.”

The man sat in the back with the dog and Martin turned the car around in his driveway.

It took ten minutes to get there. The dog’s soft cries stopped along the way, but when Martin checked the rear-view mirror, the guy’s fingers were scratching the dog’s head, so maybe that was why. _Please, let it be why._

They brought the dog in and one of the vets rushed him away. Martin ducked into the washroom to scrub the dried blood from his hands. 

The man - whose name Martin still didn’t know - took a seat on the far left in one of the plastic chairs lined against the wall. He didn’t bounce his knee or drum his fingers. Didn’t even flip one of the magazines that lay on the table. He just sat there, knees apart but not moving.

Nervous energy still pulsed inside Martin. His hands no longer shook, though he couldn’t tell when they’d stopped.

“That’s the adrenaline.”

Martin peered back at the guy and realized he’d voiced his thoughts aloud. He scrubbed his face with his hands. Calmed a little with each exhale. “I’m sorry about your dog.”

“He’s not mine.”

His nose wrinkling, Martin tilted his body toward the man. “Whose is he then?” His voice came out in a whisper, as if he’d stumbled upon a conspiracy. What an absurd thought. 

The man smiled, but he scaled it back a moment later. “I don’t know. He just hangs around the neighborhood most of the time.”

Martin sat back in the chair and watched the receptionist argue on the phone, her hair falling out of the bun at the top of her head. He hadn’t noticed the crinkles around her eyes before. Outside, the evening was still. 

“I’m Martin, by the way.” Smiling usually came easy to him, but it felt like the wrong thing to do now. With the fate of someone’s pet up in the air and no one to blame for it but him. 

“Daniel.” He shifted to extend his hand. Then almost withdrew it before Martin clasped it. His accent was minimal – unlike Martin’s own – but it didn’t sound American. The way he pronounced his name confirmed it.

It’d be insensitive of him to ask about the scar, but he couldn’t help but wonder how he’d got it. His mind took off imagining the story behind it, but he kept his mouth shut. A couple of minutes later, his thoughts returned to the dog. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

A miniscule shake of his head. “Probably not.”

Martin stood up. Blinked in rapid succession. “It was an accident. I never even saw him run onto the road. He was just suddenly there.” The breath he exhaled came from deep in his gut. “I’m not a bad guy. Not a bad driver, either. I’ve never been in an accident before now.”

Daniel put his palms up. “You don’t need to convince me. I heard it happen.”

With a wave of his arm, Martin sat down again. “I’m sorry. It’s bad enough that I hit him, but if he dies— I can’t have done that.”

“You gonna get in trouble with your parole officer?”

Martin twisted in his chair, brow pinched. “What?”

“I should have warned you.” He cracked a thin smile and it was almost as if he folded in on himself as he leant forward in the chair. “I’m not funny.”

“Oh.” Martin’s chuckle sounded more like a loud breath. “I thought you were serious.”

He nodded. “Most of the time, I am.”

By the time a woman and her son brought in a sick cat, Martin had calmed and was enjoying the sporadic conversation he managed to wheedle out of Daniel. Until the vet strolled into the lobby. “Are you the ones who brought in the Doberman earlier?”

“Yeah.” Daniel stood up, half a foot taller than the veterinarian, his straight posture making the contrast starker. 

“I’m sorry. His injuries were too extensive. He died.”

Martin’s first instinct was to say he was sorry again, but Daniel seemed to have grasped that message already. Still, he had to say something. It all felt so wrong. Martin Škrtel, the dog-killer. Accident or not, it was his fault the dog was dead. His car that hit the poor thing. He rubbed the back of his neck and stood. 

“He has a registration tattoo,” Daniel said. “Could you check your registry for his owner?”

Martin hadn’t noticed a tattoo. He wouldn’t have thought to ask about it either. He’d never had a pet; not even as a kid. Though he must have asked his parents for a puppy about three times a day as a boy, they could never afford it. When they finally could – not long after his dad was transferred to the States – they were on the brink of divorce. Martin was nearly seventeen then and more concerned with getting a boyfriend than a pet. 

It only took a couple of minutes to get the information. Now all he had to do before he could go home and sleep for the night and half the following day preferably, was visit Mrs. Delores Haverbrook and apologize in person. 

 

The dog had been further from the house than Martin thought. As he pulled into the empty driveway, his gaze swept over the lit windows. “Is this it?” 

“Yeah.” Daniel exited the car and made a beeline for the front porch.

Martin scrambled after him. When he reached the door Daniel had already knocked. Martin breathed out and couldn’t seem to stand still. 

The door opened a sliver. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Haverbrook?” Martin said.

“Yes.”

“Does a black and rust Doberman that sometimes hangs around the neighborhood belong to you?” Daniel asked. 

“Yes. That’s Moose.” She opened the door wider, lifting her delicate hand to her necklace. “What did he do? I’ve tried to stop him but he comes and goes as he pleases.”

“He didn’t do anything. I’m sorry. I— He was in the street and I couldn’t stop in time—” Martin swallowed. He couldn’t remember how it happened. Not exactly. Strange how the human memory worked. It wasn’t accurate, even now a mere hour after the incident.

“Oh, dear.” She touched her fingers to her lips. “Did he suffer?”

Martin opened his mouth.

“No, ma’am,” Daniel said, before a single word came out of Martin. He would have guessed the opposite, but maybe it was better not to tell the old lady that. “The animal hospital will probably contact you shortly to figure out the rest of it, but we just wanted you to hear it from us. Because we were there.”

Mrs. Haverbrook’s frail hand eased on the doorknob. “Thank you. Why don’t you come in? I’ll make us some tea.”

Under the light in the kitchen, Martin could see a spatter of freckles across Daniel’s nose. He clutched the visor of his baseball cap for a moment before taking the hat off. In the full light, with the cap removed, his scars looked worse, reaching beyond the hairline on the left side, leaving a bald spot. It seemed to be mostly solved by the shaved back and sides, with short hair on top. Not quite a 1920’s hairdo – though reminiscent of it – and not quite the ‘high and tight’ look either. The latter Martin had seldom found to suit anyone. 

The squeal of the kettle on the stove cut into Martin’s thoughts. 

“My Maurice only ever half-trained Moose when we got him, but since he passed on I haven’t been able to control him. He ambles out the back door and sometimes I don’t see him till the next morning, or even the one after that.” Mrs. Haverbrook poured the hot water into mugs. “But he hasn’t wanted for anything. I think someone in the neighborhood’s been caring for him. It’s just as well they would, I suppose. My arthritis has been getting worse lately. But you boys don’t want to hear about that.” She handed the mugs to them.

Martin stole a glance at Daniel again, warming his cold fingers on the mug. The dog had seemed comfortable and familiar with him. And he had been right outside his house when Martin hit him. To hide the cringe the memory brought with it, Martin sipped his tea. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Haverbrook,” Martin said. 

“Moose was getting old too. Nearly 12. By dog standards that’s even older than I am.” She smiled at him again and Martin smiled back. 

Martin and Mrs. Haverbrook made small talk while they drank their tea, but Daniel stood off to the side, silent. Martin willed himself not to study him too hard or obviously. It would be too easy to misconstrue. But he was curious. The way he held himself contrasted with his quiet nature.

By the time they left the old lady’s house, it was snowing. The cold seemed to hit him all at once and he sighed, his breath coming out foggy. 

Daniel walked down the path and past Martin’s Subaru parked in the driveway.

“It’s freezing. I’ll give you a lift.” He jogged toward the car and opened the door on the driver’s side but didn’t get in.

“I’m fine. It’s just down the street.” He pulled the hood up over his baseball cap and kept walking. 

 

When Martin finally got home, nearly two hours later than he’d planned, he lied down on the sofa, all the lights still off in the apartment. He was just going to lie there in the stillness for a couple of minutes before he got started on dinner.

Not three minutes later, the front door thudded open and the lights were flipped on. Kels leaned his head into the living room. 

“Bad day?”

“Kind of,” Martin said, squinting against the brightness in the room and raising himself into a sitting position. “Wait a second, it’s Friday night and you don’t have a date?”

“Of course I have a date.” Kels’ arrogant grin made Martin breathe out a chuckle. “Just came to borrow one of your shirts.”

Martin lied back down. “All right. But bring it back when you’re done with it. I don’t have that many.”

“Will do.” He disappeared into the bedroom. 

Martin closed his eyes. He was glad the old lady had been understanding about the accident, but he still felt awful about the whole thing. And Daniel hadn’t said much most of the night. “Do you know how much Dobermans cost?” Martin called out to Kels, whose raiding in Martin’s closet produced more noise than necessary. 

“No. Why would I?”

“Didn’t the last girl whose heart you stomped on have one?”

“No. It was one of those yippy little Mexicans. Are you thinking about getting a dog? ‘Cause I don’t think we’re allowed pets in this building.”

Martin got up and dragged himself to the doorway of his bedroom. “It’s not for me,” he said. “Didn’t you say his name was Dobie? Who names a Chihuahua that?”

“Dobby. Why don’t you ask our friend Google?” He buttoned up the shirt he’d chosen and threw on his leather jacket again. He breezed past Martin in the doorway and stopped to inspect himself in the bathroom mirror. “I look pretty hot. You’d fuck me, right?”

Martin chuckled. “No. I know where you’ve been.”

Kels winked theatrically and smirked, swaggering back out the front door.

Martin locked the door after him. Grabbed his laptop and googled Dobermans but got nowhere fast. It was probably him. He wasn’t the most computer savvy guy he knew. What he had to know for work was about the extent of his computer knowledge. He toppled face-down onto the couch and fell asleep barely five minutes later. 

 

Just before 7 am, Martin awoke in a heap on the couch, his clothes rumpled and strangling at weird angles. He reached for his phone to confirm the time, his empty stomach rumbling for food.

He had an unread text message from Kels from the night before.

> _Purebred Dobermans can cost from $1200-$2000._

2000 dollars was too much. Hell, even 1200 was too much. Still, he wasn’t ready to abandon the idea just yet. As Martin whipped up some eggs and bacon for breakfast, he thought if he found someone selling one, maybe he could talk the price down a bit. Or work out some kind of deal so that he wouldn’t have to shell it all out at once.

At work that Monday, he was bemoaning his lack of results to no one in particular when Josh came waltzing into the stockroom. He peered into the computer screen over Martin’s shoulder. 

“Hey, you looking for a dog?” He stepped back, but still stood a little closer than the average co-worker might, not that Martin minded much. “My dad’s bitch had puppies a couple of months ago. He’s got one puppy left.”

Martin turned toward him. “Doberman puppies?”

“Yeah. I could call him, see if you can check him out tonight?” 

Martin clapped his shoulder and grinned. “That’d be great.”

 

Through Josh, Martin managed to negotiate a price. He’d have to pay 1200 dollars for the dog, but over three months instead of all at once. Not a bad deal; Martin could manage that, though it was probably still too steep as a gift to a stranger. Even if he was curious about him.

The puppy was a cute little thing; black and rust and wagging not just his tail but his whole back end as well. Martin liked him instantly.

With the dog in his arms, under his open coat, he was on his way out of the house when he stopped to examine why he was doing this. Assuaging his guilt alone wasn’t worth 400 dollars a month, was it?

“Hey, you wanna get a bite to eat? There’s a good Italian place not for from here.” Josh walked up behind him, an eager smile on his face.

Martin shook his head. “Maybe some other time. I should get this little guy to his new home.”

“Right. Yeah.”

Martin opened the door. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

 

The dog yipped and squirmed and Martin tried to hold him with one arm, while knocking on the door with the other. There were no lights on from what he could see from the windows, and no movement either, but Martin continued to bang on the door. 

A door opened somewhere to the right of him and Martin peered down the concrete steps to the basement. 

Daniel’s head – complete with his baseball cap – peeked out of the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Oh. I thought you lived up here.” Martin pointed toward the door upstairs. “Never mind. I have something for you.” He turned so Daniel could see the puppy tucked into his coat. He tried to claw his way out, tickling Martin with his kicks. It wasn’t too cold out, but he was so small, Martin didn’t want to take any chances.

There was no reaction on Daniel’s face. “You’re giving me a dog?”

“Well, since Moose dying was my fault and—”

“Moose wasn’t mine.” 

Martin tried to keep the dog still. It was a good excuse to be looking at him and not Daniel. “I know. But Mrs. Haverbrook said she couldn’t train or even care for a dog anymore—”

“So you figured I’d want your charity instead? I don’t. If I wanted a dog, I’d buy one myself.”

Martin would have scratched the back of his neck if the dog wasn’t still trying to escape his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean you’d been taking care of Moose and I thought—It doesn’t matter what I thought. You might as well take him, though. I can’t keep him. There’s no pets allowed in my building.”

Daniel eyed the puppy, a slight twitch visible in his fingers. “Someone will want him.”

For a long time, Martin didn’t say anything, a little surprised Daniel hadn’t slammed the door in his face considering his reaction. “Let me leave you my number in case you change your mind.” He dug into coat pocket for a piece of paper, came up with a receipt from a fast food place. He stared straight into Daniel’s hazel eyes. “You have a pen?”

Daniel didn’t move for a moment, but eventually under Martin’s stare he did. 

Martin scribbled his name and number and thrust the piece of paper into Daniel’s hand. “I hope you change your mind.”

As he walked back to his car, he petted the dog’s head. “What am I going to do with you?” He continued to pet him as he got back in the car. “I should’ve thought this through.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lj's elf-md for beta reading. Mistakes are mine, though.

Daniel used to love early morning. There was something soothing about the air and the light at sunrise, running while half of Camp Pendleton still slept. It gave him time to himself and whether it was training, maneuvers or live fire exercises that awaited him during the day, he’d always arrive to work focused and his head free of clutter.

Now, he rolled out of bed past 10 am and hadn’t gone for a run in ages. He no longer had anywhere to be every day and aside from a few household chores, nothing to do either. 

The apartment was too quiet. Without Moose scratching at his door, barking to be let in, the sound of the occasional car whizzing past did little to drown out the silence. Maybe a jog would do him good. Then again, it wasn’t like time to himself was hard to come by anymore. He opted for bland cereal for breakfast and a lukewarm shower instead. 

When he came back out, his hair and skin still damp, he half-expected Moose to be waiting at the door, even though he’d died a week ago. He collapsed on the sofa and grabbed his cell phone off the coffee table. Without another thought, he dialed Martin.

On the third ring, he was about to hang up when there was an answer. Martin said something in a Slavic language Daniel didn’t understand, and either the words were made up of harsh vowels or he was annoyed. It was hard to tell.

“Do you always answer the phone in— What was that? Hungarian?”

A door thumped closed on Martin’s end. “Slovak. I thought you were my dad calling for the ninth time about the dog.”

Oh. “So you found a place for him?”

“Not really. Temporarily dumped him on my dad, and he’s been bugging me to take him, but I can’t. You interested?”

“Maybe.” He scratched his cheek, unsure if Martin recognized him. It seemed weird to introduce himself now. “I could buy him.”

“He’s a gift. I got him cheap through a co-worker.”

Of course people always insisted on that, but accepting gifts from strangers didn’t feel right. “No offence, but I don’t know you and I’d rather not owe you anything.” His voice, always a little hoarse, took on a harsher quality than he’d meant to give it.

“A gift is a gift. No debt and no obligations. If anything I’d owe you, since you’d be doing me a favor. Like I said my dad wants him gone, but I can’t take him. This way, at least I know someone’s taking good care of him. For good, I mean.”

“Tell you what,” Daniel said, and maybe he didn’t talk to people enough if a polite ‘I’ll pay’ argument was wearing him down. “I’ll pay half of what you paid for him and nobody owes anybody anything. Deal?”

“Deal. Is it okay if I drop him off tonight?” 

“No problem.”

 

When the knock came just after eight Daniel was elbow-deep in sudsy dishwater. He tugged his sleeves down over his damp forearms and swung the door open, ducking back inside to get his cap, only to decide against wearing it. 

He slinked back toward the door. “Sorry. Come in.” 

The sun was down and the streetlights lit up patches of the pavement behind Martin. The dog squirmed in his arms, head sticking out from under his coat. 

A gust of cool air rushed in with Martin before he closed the door. 

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a sec.” The kitchen was visible from the living room to the right of the doorway, but Daniel quickly rinsed off the last of the utensils and drained the water from the sink. 

When he returned to the living room the dog scampered over to him and sniffed at his bare feet. Daniel crouched down and held out his hand, the dog’s damp nose bumping against his knuckles. 

“Are you a soldier?” Martin said, still facing the bookshelves half-filled with various non-fiction book and Daniel was mildly impressed with his situational awareness. 

“Marine. Or I used to be.” Although Martin couldn’t see him, he shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance. He scratched behind the puppy’s ear and landed on a name for him. “The scars kind of give me away I guess.” He hated talking about it, but it wasn’t like he could hide it either, even when he wore the cap. The skin graft scars on his face were ugly, but the ones on his upper arm and side of his torso where part of the wounds had been left to heal on their own were worse. 

Martin turned around. “I admit I am curious about them, but that’s not why I asked.” His full lips stretched into a smile. “There’s just something about you that says ‘military’.” 

With a nod, Daniel didn’t look up from where he was petting Rusty when he spoke again. “Humvee hit an IED. I wasn’t even supposed to be there. We were light infantry, but my squad was returning from a mission and I’d twisted my ankle and was limping along when some guys from another unit offered me a ride back to base.” He could feel Martin’s gaze still on him. 

“I’m sorry,” was the only thing Martin said for a long moment. As the silence stretched on, he cleared his throat as if to signify a change in subject. “What’s light infantry? Is it like not quite front lines or something?”

Daniel raised himself to his full height again, leaving Rusty to get acquainted with his new home. “No. It’s front line. Means no tanks, LAVs or Amtracks. We carried the same gear as regular infantry, only difference is we had to hoof it. Means we’d have missions in rough weather or terrain, places or situations a 30-ton war machine couldn’t go.”

Evidently comfortable, Martin took a seat on the couch. “Like Special Forces or something?”

“Not really.” Daniel sat down on the other end. “We were with 1 MEF and though on paper we’d be the unit to be called on for missions in the mountain regions or during a sandstorm, we were attached to the other units in the MEF and our mission was usually the same as theirs.”

“1 MEF? I feel like I need a dictionary for this conversation.”

That tickled Daniel, producing a smile. “Sorry. It’s habit. One Marine Expeditionary Force. It’s an air-ground task force, the largest of the three MEFs in the Marine Corps.”

“So you saw a lot of action then?”

This topic was always a little uncomfortable. It usually led to the question of combat and the stupid ‘how many people have you killed?’ “Five combat deployments in the eight years before this.” He lifted his arm lazily to indicate his scarred face. Adjusting his jeans at his knees, he waited for the uncomfortable questions he was sure were to come. 

But they didn’t. Martin looked his way for a moment, unfairly attractive with his broad shoulders, shaved head and plump lips he wet with the tip of his tongue. “Did you like it? Being a Marine, I mean?”

“Sometimes. It’s like any other job except in the ways it’s not. I spent two years recuperating after the IED – undergoing reconstructive surgeries and the like – but when I got my medical discharge about eight months ago, I think I was ready to go. By then I’d spent ten years in the Corps. What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a stockroom manager at a hardware store. Do you still work? You mentioned a medical discharge; does it prevent you from working?”

“No. I still have some of my severance pay left and get 25% disability from the government, but I got a medical discharge because I was combat ineffective. There was some damage to my vocal chords, some scarring of the lung tissue and my corneal transplant worked fine, but my peripheral vision’s a little blurry. I can work, I just haven’t found a job yet.”

Martin nodded. “At least that’s good. That you can work?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s good.”

An awkward silence settled between them and soon enough Martin got up. “I better get going.” He took the few steps toward the front door. 

“How much did he cost you? Rusty?”

Martin smiled. “I like that name for him. I haven’t paid it all yet, but 1200 dollars. Monthly payments of 400.”

“How’d you swing that?”

The smile grew. “I wasn’t lying when I said I got him through a coworker. He vouched for me.” He waved his arm dismissively. “Anyway, you don’t need to pay.”

“I thought we had a deal.” Daniel would’ve smirked if he thought he could’ve pulled it off. He probably hadn’t since before the scars. “No more bargaining or arguing.”

“Well, how do you want to do it? Over three months seems fair since that’s how I’m paying.”

That would mean they’d see each other again. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He grabbed his wallet off the kitchen counter and handed Martin 200 dollars of the money he’d withdrawn earlier that day.

 

Martin didn’t enter Daniel’s mind again until about a week later. It was a Friday evening and Daniel had been inside all day, aside from letting Rusty out to do his business a couple of times. Now the puppy lay curled on the other side of the couch while Daniel watched a cop show on television. The lack of trigger discipline all of the characters displayed was irritating and he half-expected one of the leads to blow their partner’s face off any minute with the way they waved their handguns around with their finger inside the trigger guard. 

He really was sad, wasn’t he? Sitting at home alone on a weekend, groaning about poor weapons handling in a TV show. Maybe he should call Martin. He seemed friendly. Maybe he could invite him over for a beer or two. It was probably too soon. He had seen him only a week before. Still, there was no harm in asking.

Before he could chicken out of it, he grabbed his phone off the coffee table and called him. 

When Martin answered, it occurred to Daniel he didn’t have much of a plan. “Hi... It’s Daniel,” he said, almost monotone as if he were talking to an answering machine. “I was wondering if you wanted to visit Rusty.” He cringed, squeezing one eye shut. “Sometime.” Well, that was demoralizing. 

In the brief pause that followed, Daniel was sure to get rebuffed. Instead Martin said: “I’d like that. A friend of mine is dragging me to some new bar tonight, but I’m free tomorrow night?”

Lips drawn inwards, Daniel nodded. “Sure. Tomorrow night’s great.” He stifled a sigh. What was wrong with him? Apparently, the IED hadn’t just taken his good looks, but his charisma with it. 

“It’s a date.” 

 

It wasn’t a date, of course, in the traditional sense of the word, but as Daniel showered and dressed in black jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt, he caught himself acting as if it were. Fixing his hair with gel and giving his neck a spray of cologne. 

When Martin arrived, and Daniel had opened the door for him, he crouched down to pet Rusty. 

“You shouldn’t bend down to greet him first thing. At least not while I’m still training him.” When Martin looked up at him, Daniel tried for a smile. “Gotta show him who’s top dog.”

Martin grinned. “What happens if I don’t?” His voice was light and teasing and Daniel tried not to read anything into it that wasn’t there.

“Simple terms: Rusty will outrank you.”

With a nod, Martin straightened. “You know a lot about training dogs?”

Daniel shrugged, loose-limbed and surprisingly comfortable in Martin’s presence. “Trained my family’s Golden Retriever when I was a teenager.” He took the three steps needed to get to the refrigerator. “You want a beer?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“So how was last night? You went to check out some new place, yeah?” Daniel said and grabbed two cans from the fridge. 

Martin took a seat at the kitchen table. “Yeah. It was good. Seemed like every other bar in town, really, but at least Kels liked it.” He took the proffered can from Daniel’s grasp. “Anyway, I rarely go out to drink, or stay in to drink for that matter.”

“Me neither. Still it’s nice once in a while.”

Martin’s nod looked absent-minded, but then his eyes cleared and he turned his gaze on Daniel. “Hey, you play poker?”

“Are you kidding me?” He spread his arms out and the smirk he’d been sure he’d lost in the burn broke out on his face. “I’m a Marine. Gambling’s pretty much second nature.”

There was an amused twinkle in Martin’s eye when he arched an eyebrow. “Yeah? We have a monthly poker game. No significant amount of money, just a few bucks. You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

It was tempting. How long had it been since he’d played poker? “Who’s ‘us’?” He’d had minimal interaction with other people in the last few months. The thought of jumping right into a poker game with a bunch of guys he’d never met might be pushing it for the first try of reintegrating with the world.

“There’s me. My friend Kels, who lives across the hall from me. Steve, who also lives in the building and Josh, who I work with. They’re all pretty mellow. You in?”

Beer can raised to his mouth, Daniel nodded and swallowed down the mouthful. “I’m in.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lj's elf-md for beta reading.

Martin had a pair of eights. The pot was about 50 dollars and he wasn’t sure if he should up the ante. It might force one of the other guys out, and he was reasonably sure Kels didn’t have anything. With Josh unable to make the poker game tonight, that just left Steve and Daniel. 

Steve had a hell of poker face. Just when Martin thought he recognized his tells, it turned out he’d read him wrong. But he was having an unlucky night and hadn’t won a hand in over an hour.

Daniel was hard to read as well and not just when it came to poker. They’d met four or five times in the last three weeks and the only time Martin had seen him open up was when he’d told him about the scars. Since then they’d only ever talked superficially; about the local basketball team or one particularly awkward time, the weather. It made for pretty short conversation. It looked like it would take a little time, but Martin wanted to know more about him. 

“I see your two,” Martin finally said and tossed his chips into the pile. 

Kels scrutinized him exaggeratedly. “I fold,” he said and placed his cards face down on Martin’s kitchen table. “You’re up, Steve-arino.”

After a moment’s contemplation, Steve’s cards ended face down too. “Fold,” he said. 

Martin quelled the urge to grin and turned his eyes on Daniel. He always removed his cap when inside, probably something ingrained in him by his parents, or the Marines. Martin hardly noticed the stretched pink scar anymore, but he’d warned Kels off making any comment. Steve hadn’t needed the memo, simply shaking Daniel’s hand and getting down to business. 

But since the cap sat on the windowsill to Daniel’s right, that meant there was nothing to hide the expression on his face. Not that Martin expected to see much that would give away the nature of his cards. He always looked calm. Martin studied him for a sign but wasn’t surprised not to find any. If Daniel raised, Martin was out. 

When Daniel looked up again, a small smile twisted the corner of his lips. He placed his cards face up on the table. “Trip nines. Let’s see ‘em, Škrtel.” 

“No,” Martin said, half-smiling and dropped his cards on the table. “I thought I had you.”

Daniel smirked – all perfect pearly teeth – and reached for the pile on the table. “Knew you were bluffing as soon as you hesitated.”

“Damn.” Still, Martin grinned. “You better buy me dinner with some of your winnings. Anyone up for another round?”

Steve rose from his seat. “Not me. I’m out of cash and have an early shift tomorrow morning, so until next time, fellas.” He clapped Kels’ shoulder and nodded toward Daniel and Martin respectively, before leaving.

“I’m not broke yet, but I’d like it to stay that way, so I’m out too,” Kels said. He dropped the chips on the kitchen counter and Martin got up to hand him his money. 

Kels pocketed the few crumpled bills he’d won. “Catch you guys later,” he said on his way out.

Martin counted out his own winnings and handed Daniel the rest. “You want another beer?” 

“Nah,” Daniel said, twirling his empty bottle on the table. “Drove here. I should get going.” He stood up and stretched, then reached for his thick sweatshirt off the back of the chair. “Don’t like to leave Rusty by himself for too long.” He put the baseball cap back on and Martin could no longer see the hazel of his eyes.

“You should bring him next time. We’re not allowed pets, but a couple of hours should be fine.” 

The entrance way of Martin’s apartment wasn’t all that spacious but as Daniel slid his worn sneakers on, Martin was acutely aware of the lack of distance between them. Maybe Daniel was just used to close quarters. He’d been a Marine for a long time; it made sense that little things like this didn’t bother him. 

Should Martin let him know he was interested? He wasn’t sure. Daniel could’ve been interested in Martin too, but it was hard to tell. Whatever signs Martin could see were too ambiguous. He seemed lonely, but maybe he just wanted to be friends. “You want to grab a bite to eat sometime next week?”

Daniel bobbed his head. “Sounds good.”

“All right. I’ll call you.”

 

In the middle of cleaning up after lunch the next day, Martin barely looked up when Kels let himself in and stretched out on the L of Martin’s couch, legs crossed at the ankles. 

“So your boyfriend’s pretty cool,” Kels said and grabbed the remote off the coffee table. “Even if he did end up with most of my money.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Not yet, you mean.”

When Martin turned to put away the next thing, the remote control he’d thought Kels was fiddling with turned out to be Martin’s smart-phone. “I don’t know.” He pointed the fork in his hand toward Kels. “What are you doing with that?”

“At first I thought you felt sorry for him, but then I realized you actually just like him. Why not date him?” He didn’t look up from the phone until he let it drop on the cushion next to him. “You just sent him a text message.”

Martin sighed and shoved the rest of the cutlery in the drawer. “We’re not prepubescent girls. I can text him myself.”

“I’m only trying to help. You haven’t been on a date since what’s-his-name who was dating like five other people on the side.” 

“Two. And we’d only gone out a few times. It wasn’t anything serious yet.” It hadn’t really bothered Martin much, which was reason enough to end it. 

“You sleep with him?” 

Martin didn’t answer, but that in itself was answer enough. 

“Then he had no right to be dating anybody else.”

The laugh he stifled turned into a snort and he didn’t even try to stop the goofy grin he could feel spreading across his lips.

“What?” 

Martin leant against the counter. “Isn’t that a little hypocritical coming from you?”

“Hey, I may be more of the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, but I never date more than one girl at a time.”

“How sweet.” Just then Martin’s phone beeped. “What did he say?”

He nearly regretted asking when Kels’ face split into a mad grin and he unlocked the phone with a quick stroke of his thumb. “He says ‘I thought we weren’t on ‘till next week.’” His brow pinched. “That seems like a weird response. I was sure he liked you back.”

Martin ambled over. “What did you say?”

“I asked him out tonight.” 

Martin plucked the phone from Kels’ fingers. “He probably didn’t even realize you were asking him on a date.” At Kels’ disappointed ‘aw’, Martin shrugged. “It’s just as well. I’d rather do it in person.” If he did it at all. He typed out _‘Thought we said tonight, but next week is good too.’_ and sent it off.

“God, you’re old-fashioned.”

He didn’t get an answering text. Presumably there was no reason. But it was no help in figuring out if Daniel would want to date him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify some things said in this part (but mostly to make my timeline fit), this takes place in 2014. 
> 
> Big thanks to lj's elf-md for beta-reading.

Despite its shortness, Daniel’s wet hair left a trail of droplets in his wake as he rushed to open the door. Denmark were playing Slovakia in a football friendly and Daniel had invited Martin over to watch it with him. 

Martin greeted him with a toothy smile and immediately bent down to scratch Rusty’s head. “Hey, buddy. You’re getting big, aren’t you?”

Daniel toweled his hair off. “Puppies do tend to grow.”

“I know that.” His voice still had that light quality he used when he talked to the dog. “It’s just every time I come here, I swear I see a difference. What are you feeding him?”

Daniel shrugged. “You know the rumors about the meat here in the States.”

“Really?” Martin rose, his eyes meeting Daniel’s. “You feed him real food? Isn’t that expensive?”

“It is, but I don’t trust dog food. Most of what’s out there is Grade D meat packed with grains, no matter what it says on the package. Real food is the best thing for a dog. You just gotta know what not to feed him.” A sardonic smile twisted his lips. “Grains being at the top of that list.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky?” Martin said to Rusty, who tilted his head curiously. “I knew I was leaving you in good hands.”

When Daniel returned from tossing the towel in the laundry basket, Martin had made himself comfortable in the middle of the couch. He gave the neckline of his Slovakia shirt a tug. “Why aren’t you wearing your colors?”

“Couldn’t find my Denmark shirt.” It was probably somewhere in his closet but short sleeves left the scars on his arm more exposed than he was comfortable with and he hadn’t actually looked for it. He couldn’t hide the scars on his face, but the ones on his left side and arm were nastier and he intended to keep them hidden as long as he could.

He took the seat to Martin’s left. Tension threaded itself in his gut and Daniel reached for the remote on the coffee table. “Does the contrast look off to you?” He pressed a couple of buttons and made things worse. 

Martin chuckled; a breathy little sound, intimate in its proximity. “I was going to say it looks fine, but not so much anymore.” 

With a little more tinkering, Daniel managed to restore the picture. He leant forward to put the remote back and his knee bumped against Martin’s. Martin glanced toward him with a smile and the broadcast finally started. 

During the national anthems, Rusty ambled over and Martin patted the open seat on his other side. “Come on. Come on.” The dog didn’t move. “He’s allowed on the couch, right?”

“Yeah.” Daniel whistled and snapped his fingers to Martin’s right. Rusty hopped up. 

Martin turned toward him with a small grin. “Impressive. You’ve only had him for like six weeks and already he listens to you and ignores me.”

“He ignores you because he knows he’s got you wrapped around his little paw.”

Martin ruffled Rusty’s coat of short hairs. “Yeah, that’s kind of true.”

On television, the whistle blew and Daniel sat back, his shoulder half on top of Martin’s. He drew in a breath and mumbled a ‘sorry’, prompting Martin to shift a little so Daniel could wedge himself between him and the armrest. Nobody had been this close in a long time. Martin’s body heat radiated off him and the smell of him lingered in Daniel’s senses. This was going to be a long 90-odd minutes. 

At halftime, Slovakia was a goal up. Daniel had only been half into the game, too distracted by practically sitting on top of Martin. Still, he’d made all the appropriate noises, just a little less energetically than he might have otherwise. 

Martin, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, his enthusiasm making him gesture or move every so often, to the point where Rusty gave up trying to sleep with his head on his thigh. 

Daniel stood up as they replayed Slovakia’s goal and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, though he wasn’t all that thirsty. It was as good an excuse as any to get up. He lingered at the kitchen counter, peering out the window.

The sun tried its best to break through the fog outside and the afternoon looked brighter than the morning had. Martin still sat relaxed on the couch, one arm thrown over the back of it. 

“Second half’s starting,” he said a couple of minutes later. 

Daniel drank the rest of his water and settle back down on the end, Martin’s arm behind him. He resisted the urge to squirm. Martin was closer now, body angled toward him and his arm no longer separating them. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Martin said, turning toward him just so and Daniel had to stop himself from leaning in. 

“Yeah? I usually am,” Daniel said, voice a little scratchier than normal. If Martin noticed, he didn’t show it. He merely nodded and turned his attention back onto the game. 

Denmark lost the game by one goal. 

Daniel walked Martin to the door, and not usually one to fidget, he kept at least a foot back as Martin slipped his shoes on. They both went to open the door at the same time and their heads knocked together. Daniel’s awkward laugh did nothing to hurry the moment along. 

But Martin just smiled, looking all the more attractive for it. He rubbed the spot near his temple where Daniel had head-butted him. “I’ll see you later. Bye, Rusty.” He waved at the puppy who’d settled himself at Daniel’s feet.

“Smooth, Daniel,” Daniel said under his breath when Martin had left. “Very smooth.”

 

A week later, Daniel had dinner plans with Martin, but he arrived early, just as Daniel was getting ready to take Rusty for a walk. 

“Sorry, I thought we said seven. I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” He turned toward the dog. “Sit,” he said, calm and firm. “Good boy.” Then put the collar and leash on him while Rusty sat perfectly still. 

“You should be a dog trainer,” Martin said as he leant against the doorframe, watching him. 

Grabbing his baseball cap and keys off the counter, Daniel tried not to think about last Saturday and the closeness and the nerves and the embarrassment. “I think you need to get licensed for that.”

“So get licensed.”

Daniel led Rusty outside and shook his head minutely in thought. “I’m not sure I’d make a good trainer. It’s not something that interests me beyond instilling discipline in my own dog.”

“What do you want to do?”

The door locked when Daniel pulled it closed. “I don’t know. Seems a little late to be chasing dreams now.”

“Why? You’re what? Thirty?”

“Not until December. But that’s not what I meant.” He didn’t elaborate further, just started walking and Rusty dutifully followed him. 

As did Martin. The silence stretched into the next moment, their footsteps on the pavement the only sound between them. “Looks like it might rain.” Martin said, peering up at the partially overcast sky.

“Yeah. But I figured Rusty might like some air.” It was just the right side of cold. Perfect running weather. If it did rain, Daniel wouldn’t mind it. He liked the feel of it, the accompanying feeling it left in him.

They’d only walked a few blocks when the first drops hit the ground. Rusty continued to trot onward, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth and his tail swishing from side to side. 

Martin nudged Daniel’s shoulder with his. “You’re being quiet again.”

“What can I say? I excel at it.” A smile tugged at his lips. The rain came down harder and Daniel watched a droplet trickle down Martin’s cheekbones. He nearly reached out to touch before he stilled himself.

Martin’s hands were in his coat pockets and his shoulders hunched. “You want to walk back?”

Splotches of Daniel’s shirt stuck to his skin, despite the sweatshirt he wore over it. “Yeah. Rusty will make a mess.”

The brisk walk back took under five minutes, but the rain had soaked Daniel through by then. Once inside, he shook off the worst of it and tried in vain to wipe his face with wet hands. Martin came closer, and the palm of his hand stroked Daniel’s jaw. It was sudden.

Daniel’s heart pounded. His eyes fixed on Martin’s, the speckle of green amid the blue capturing his attention. Rusty tugged the leash out of his grasp, prompting Daniel to look just when Martin leant in. 

His lips caught no more than the corner of his mouth. On the scarred side, too.

 _Fuck_. Daniel blew it. He just had to look away at the worst possible moment. “Sorry, I—” But Martin sought his lips again. He closed his eyes, the taste of rain lingering, but Daniel didn’t give it a second thought as Martin pressed firmly against him. As Martin’s hands encircled Daniel’s waist, he stifled the need to make a sound. It had been so long since he’d been touched.

Their lips parted only briefly. Just an exhale and Martin’s mouth was on his again. Heat spreading through his limbs, Daniel brought a hand up to run over the smooth skin on Martin’s neck. 

Martin walked him backwards until his back hit the wall, the heat spreading further and Daniel couldn’t stifle the sound in the back of his throat. 

Cold fingers made their way under Daniel’s sweatshirt and brushed against his hipbone. Daniel broke the kiss. He couldn’t think clearly, this was happening too fast. The twisted, red scars that marred his body were nearly under the tips of Martin’s fingers. It was too much, too soon. 

He extracted himself from Martin’s grasp. “I’ve got to clean up this mess.” A trail of damp and dirty paw-prints marked Rusty’s path inside. “Maybe you should go.”

He didn’t wait for Martin to comply or reply, before following the dog inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day to day life is about to kick my ass the next couple of weeks, so this is the last update for now. Chapter 5 is written and beta-read but chapter 6 is only halfway there and then needs to go to the beta, so I really can't say when that one will be ready. Hopefully not too long. As soon as RL calms down, I'll have the time to get back on track.


	5. Chapter 5

They were cut off. Just three Marines in the middle of fucking Fallujah. He shouted something but couldn’t hear himself over the snap and hiss of gunfire. He clutched his M16 and rounded the corner. Debris exploded all around them, knocking them off their feet and Daniel scrambled for cover. Curtis’ Kevlar tumbled to the side, his head split open.

Daniel’s eyes snapped open. Damp with sweat and heart palpitating in his chest. It was still dark out and he was safe and warm in bed, no longer a gung-ho 19 year old. Curtis had been dead for nearly 10 years. This particular nightmare hadn’t visited him since the worst of his PTSD. He’d thought it buried long ago too.

Rusty peered up at him from where he was lying half on top of his feet. 

“I’m all right,” Daniel told him, feeling calmer with each breath. “It was a dream.” He dragged his feet off the bed and onto the cold floor. “Sort of.” He scrubbed his hands over his face.

The dog nudged his arm with his damp nose, his quiet whimper little louder than a deep breath. Daniel pet his side. As much as he loved Rusty, it wasn’t the same as human companionship. Let alone an actual relationship. He hadn’t had one of those in... Probably ever. 

Between the Marines and ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’, he hadn’t had much time or opportunity. His past relationships consisted mostly of flings that had burned out by the time he’d deployed again. He used to tell his mother that he didn’t need anybody. And that was still true. But needing and wanting weren’t the same thing.

He’d really fucked up with Martin last night. 

The alarm clock read 5.35 am and Daniel reached for his phone, mostly just for something to do with his hands. The voicemail icon stared back at him from the top of the screen. Probably his dad. Though trying to give him his space, he never could keep up radio silence for long. But as Daniel played the message, it wasn’t his dad’s voice that sounded.

“I’m not sure what happened tonight,” Martin said, “but maybe we can start over. We could have dinner sometime. Just dinner. Let me know. Bye.”

It was too early to call him back now. Daniel lied back down on top of the covers, chuckling as Rusty bounded up to him. “Martin’s pretty nice, huh?” Daniel said. Rusty laid his head on Daniel’s stomach and closed his eyes. “Yeah. A little more sleep’s not a bad idea.”

At noon, Daniel texted Martin and invited him to dinner that night.

 

When the knock came, Daniel paused a bit, hand resting on the doorknob, before opening the door. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

Neither of them said anything more and as Martin stepped inside – for once not bending down to pet the dog the moment he walked up – the silence closed in further. Daniel took a step back, uncomfortably aware of their closeness. “Look, I overreacted last night.”

Martin nodded, the corner of his mouth twisting downward, if only just slightly. “It’s no big deal. It’s not the first time I misread you.” 

At a loss for what to say, Daniel merely nodded. “So. Dinner’s ready.”

Martin took a seat and Daniel laid out the plates of food. Steaks and salad seemed a safe bet. They’d eaten together a couple of times, but Daniel wasn’t sure what he preferred when it came to food. 

“I didn’t know you were going to cook. I thought we’d get take-out,” Martin said.

“We can if you don’t like this.” Daniel reached for the plate again, but Martin stopped him with a gentle hand on his wrist and smiled a kind little smile that made it hard to look at him. What did Daniel have to offer a guy like that?

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Martin said. “Anyway, who doesn’t like steak?”

Daniel took the seat opposite Martin. “Right. I don’t have any dressing for the salad. I don’t like it and just now realized that sounds selfish—”

“It’s fine. I don’t need dressing.”

Daniel’s gaze barely strayed from his plate, until Martin made an appreciative noise, and Daniel allowed himself a glance. 

“It’s good,” Martin said. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Daniel’s hold on his fork eased. “Yeah, well, when you’ve lived on meals from tinfoil packages for weeks on end, you learn to appreciate good food.” 

There was a slight clang as Martin laid his cutlery down on his plate. “I’m confused. Last night you basically threw me out. And when you said you overreacted, I thought you just wanted to be friends.” When Daniel didn’t say anything, he went on. “But this feels like a date.” He let that sit for a moment, then leaned forward just a little. “Is it?”

Shoulders tensing, Daniel shook his head but shrugged as well. “Yeah?”

“Then what was that last night?”

“Nothing.” But Martin’s eyes searched Daniel’s and he wasn’t going to get away with that answer. “You surprised me. And I didn’t even know you knew about me.” He drew in a quiet breath and some more things just spilled out. “We don’t know each other that well and it’s just moving a little fast. I haven’t... It’s been a long time for me.” That was all true, though it wasn’t really the main reason for his reaction. 

The way Martin’s eyes softened was about as difficult to understand as his kind smile. It was hard enough to grasp that he was interested in Daniel. “You could have just told me that,” Martin said. “I don’t want to play games and I can’t guess what you’re thinking.”

“I just need to go a little slower.” Embarking on this was both thrilling and crippling at once. Daniel was used to being alone. To avoid another night that ended in him suggesting that Martin leave, he’d have to give himself time to get used to this. To let himself be exposed and not just physically.

“Okay. We can do that.” There was a beat of silence. Then: “So I guess lunch this week is out of the question?”

Daniel bit back a smile. “No.” But maybe smiling wasn’t so bad. His lips stretched upward and he found the expression mirrored on Martin’s face. “I can do lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life has calmed down a little, but I haven't finished Chapter 6 yet. After I have, it still needs to go to the beta, so I'm still not sure at all when I'll be able to update again. Hopefully it won't be too long.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Sorry this took so long. It's a busy time of year. I will try and be quicker with the next one.

Martin was distracted when Kels and Josh half-dragged him into their conversation. Steve had sent a text saying he’d be running late but Martin was starting to wonder if Daniel would show up to poker night at all. Nothing had changed between them. They saw each other a couple of times a week, mostly staying in instead of going out, and that was fine with Martin. But Daniel was still quiet and withdrawn and Martin felt like he didn’t really know him. 

Finally, about a quarter after eight the downstairs buzzer went and Martin got up to let him in. He opened the door, ignoring the chatter still going on in the kitchen. When Daniel was face to face with him, albeit partially hidden beneath his baseball cap, Martin wasn’t sure how to properly greet him. 

So he simply smiled. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I thought you were bringing Rusty.”

Daniel slid his shoes off, eyes cast down. “Yeah, I was going to, but...”

“But what?”

“I don’t know.” He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I just didn’t.”

Martin nodded and walked him inside where they sat on opposite ends of the kitchen table. Daniel removed his cap and greeted the guys with a nod and a ‘hey’, but he was otherwise quiet. The boys kept talking but Martin didn’t pay much attention to their conversation. Barely five minutes later, Steve arrived and they could finally play some poker.

Halfway into their second hand of the night, Steve’s cell phone rang. “Fold,” he said, placing his cards face down and getting up to take the call elsewhere.

Daniel tossed a chip into the pile. “I’m in.”

They showed their cards and Kels won on a pair of jacks. He whooped and gathered the chips. “Ah, poker; the sweet answer to my cable bill.” Not that the amount would have covered it, but it was a start.

Martin had been pretty ambitious going for a straight. He’d never been the type to ‘go big or go home’, but sometimes it was fun to take some chances, even if they were long shots. 

“I could’ve sworn Steve had this one,” Josh said, reaching for Steve’s cards.

“It’s not your turn to deal,” Martin said.

Josh kept reaching, a finger grasping the edge of a card. “I just want to see his hand.”

With a shake of his head, Martin pulled Josh’s hand back. “Uh-uh. Once you fold, you fold. No one sees your hand.”

“Oh, come on. He only folded because his phone rang.”

“I don’t care. If you’re going to play poker in my house, you’re gonna play by my rules.” 

“You’re kind of bossy, aren’t you?” The jab of his elbow was a friendly gesture, but the grin suggested something more. “I like it.”

Kels gathered the cards and started to shuffle them. 

“Right. Okay.” Josh clapped his hands together. “Should we wait for Steve?” 

“I already dealt the cards,” Kels said, dispensing the last one. “Let’s just play this one and we’ll deal him in next time.”

Josh gave Martin another coy grin. “What does Martin say? After all, we’re playing by his rules.”

“Not to piss on your moment,” Kels said, pausing to take a sip of his beer. “But I’m here to play poker. Not get a front row seat to your flirting.”

Daniel’s mouth twitched, though whether that was a good sign or bad, Martin couldn’t say. When Daniel didn’t say anything, merely regarding his cards and swapping their order, Martin gave up trying to guess. It was no use.

Martin got up. “I think I need a beer. Anyone? Daniel?”

“I’m not staying long. I left the dog at home.”

He left the dog at home. When he could’ve brought him, he left him at home and now he was using that as an excuse. Martin wondered if Daniel hadn’t done it on purpose. It was the perfect escape route.

Daniel broke even about half an hour later and left shortly after that.

 

It wasn’t until about a week later that Martin attempted to kiss Daniel again. He could have asked for permission and maybe he should have, considering how things had gone the last time, but he didn’t want to take the spontaneity out of it. Some of the magic was in the anticipation.

The credits were rolling on the movie that they’d been watching and Martin leaned in, slow and easy. It was little more than a peck on Daniel’s top lip. And then a peck on the bottom lip. Parting his lips, Martin trailed his palm along the left side of Daniel’s jaw. Daniel flinched. It was only a slight, barely there movement but Martin felt it all the same.

“That doesn’t hurt, does it?” he whispered, his mouth still only inches from Daniel’s, all too aware of the fragility of the moment. 

“No.” Not surprisingly he didn’t offer an explanation. 

Stubbornly, Martin kept his hand were it rested on the scarred side of Daniel’s face. “You know I don’t care about the scars.”

“Yeah, I know.” Martin’s eyes were drawn to Daniel’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “But I do.” He pulled away and turned his head. “I’m gonna get something to drink. Do you want anything?”

Martin shook his head and Daniel stood up. They were never going to get anywhere, if Daniel was going to pull away every time things started moving, even at the snail’s pace they were going right now. 

“You and Josh,” Daniel said and Martin looked in his direction, though only his back was visible from where Martin sat. “You guys close?”

“Not really. We work together and play poker about once a month. Why do you ask?”

Daniel turned around and took a sip of his orange juice. “He’s pretty into you.”

This didn’t strike Martin as the kind of conversation to have with so much space between them. It wasn’t like talking about the weather or what kind of day they’d had. He joined Daniel in the kitchen, but kept to the other side of the island. “Maybe. So what?”

His mouth a thin line, Daniel lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “Nothing. Just saying.”

The phone rang, shrill in the silence of the moment. Daniel grabbed it and went off to the bedroom to talk privately. Growing bored not a minute later, Martin wandered from the kitchen into the living room and went to look through Daniel’s books. A lot of them dealt with history, others science and still others mythology. Wedged between two of them was a small wooden box. It seemed out of place. 

With just the murmur of Daniel’s voice in the background, Martin lifted the lid and drew out a chain. Daniel’s dog tags. 

Agger  
Daniel M. A Pos  
123456789  
USMC M  
No Preference

There was no rank or unit number or anything that would have told Martin anything he might have wanted to know. As much as it seemed to have shaped who Daniel now was, Martin didn’t know much about Daniel’s past as a Marine. After that first conversation when Daniel had told him about the scars, whenever Martin asked about the Marines, Daniel either changed the subject or out and out told him he didn’t want to talk about it. 

It was a little weird, now that Martin thought about it, that the only time Martin had been able to gain any insight into Daniel, was the night Martin had dropped Rusty off. Before they had known each other at all.

He dropped the tags into the box again and picked up a sleek black case instead. Inside was a Purple Heart. He’d never seen a real one before, though he knew it as a staple of war movies. Wounded soldiers would get one of these medals. Martin turned the heart over. On the back it said ‘For Military Merit’. 

“What are you doing?” 

Startled, Martin dropped the case. It landed with a single thump and he bent down to pick it up again. “I’m sorry. I saw the box and was just curious.” He put the case back in the box. “I didn’t know you had one of these.”

“Put that back.” 

Martin turned around, brow pinching just a bit at Daniel’s tone of voice. “I already did.” He uncoiled his tight shoulders. “Look, I’m sorry. I had no idea what was in the box and I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Daniel rubbed his lips together. Just a barely noticeable action that seemed to indicate that he was thinking. Or that’s what Martin guessed. “Don’t do that again.” He couldn’t have been more rigid if he’d tried. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

Good. Well, not good, but Martin was glad that Daniel was communicating and not just shutting down and shutting him out. “What does?”

He waved his arm at him. “You snooping through my things.”

Martin really hadn’t meant to upset him. Taking a look in the box hadn’t been the plan either, but his curiosity had got the better of him. “I wasn’t snooping. I was just curious. And I must admit I’m even more curious now. Why can’t I look at your medal?”

“It’s not like it’s a medal for valor. It’s for being nearly blown up and burned alive. And I know I’m supposed to be glad I’m alive and well, but I don’t need a fucking medal as a reminder of what happened. I see it every time I look in the mirror.”

His gaze softening, Martin attempted a step closer. The scars were noticeable, maybe even obvious, but Daniel wasn’t as ugly as he seemed to think he was.

“Don’t,” Daniel said, voice low and rasping like sandpaper. The skin around his eyes pinched. “Don’t pity me.”

“I don’t need to. You’re doing enough of that on your own.” 

“Fuck you.” Daniel stalked right up to him. “You have no idea what this is like. You’re fucking perfect. Sculpted cheek bones, smooth skin, perfect fucking lips. And I’m supposed to feel bad about being insecure about my scars? I can just imagine the kind of guys you could get. I’m never going to stack up to that.”

“Maybe if you actually got to know me, you’d realize I don’t want a guy because he’s pretty or his abs are great or his hair is always perfect. That I want someone who interests me. Someone who, for once, likes me half as much as I like him.” Martin drew in a breath and felt some of the tension leave him. His voice came out calmer when he spoke again. “But I also don’t want to date a guy who freaks out every time I try to kiss him. And blows up when I get a glimpse of his past. Yeah, you’re scarred, Daniel, but that doesn’t make you unattractive. But you’re making it really hard to get to know you, and that does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first I came up with an SSN based on how they work, but ultimately decided it didn't actually matter to the story so I just went with the numbers in a row.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I lost momentum during the holidays and it hasn't been easy to get back into it. I think I've got it back, though, and have made some headway on the next part as well. This part was originally longer, but a scene and some snippets alluding to it had to be cut because it wasn't working. 
> 
> Many thanks to lj's elf-md for beta-reading.

The moment Martin walked into his dad’s house the next day, his stomach rumbled from the smell of goulash soup cooking in the kitchen. Audrey had insisted he come over for lunch and apparently, she was making it worth his while. 

Golden oldies flowed from the radio in the kitchen and Martin followed the sound. His dad looked up from the Saturday paper briefly, before burying his nose back in it. 

Martin sat down. After exchanging hellos and making small talk about the weather and work, Audrey hinted at what Martin suspected was the real reason this visit was so important to her. “Are you seeing anyone?” she said. “There’s this doctor who just started working at the hospital. I think the two of you would get along great. Do you want me to set you up?”

“Thanks, but I’m seeing someone,” Martin said.

The paper crinkled when his father lowered it to make eye contact. “You are? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“That’s not surprising, since this is the first I’ve mentioned it.”

Audrey put a steaming bowl before Martin, her powdery perfume momentarily overpowering the gorgeous smell of the soup. “That’s too bad. About Dr. Parks, I mean.”

“Don’t fret,” Martin’s father said, putting the paper away. His chair scraped against the wooden floor when he resituated himself. “You can set them up soon enough.”

The soup was just the way Martin liked it, made more the Slovak way than the American and full of gunk that looked bad but tasted delicious. “Thanks for that, dad. There’s nothing quite like your brand of pessimism to get me through the day.”

“You have a tendency to go after the wrong kind of men. Cheaters, frauds, secretly married guys. That last guy didn’t even respect you enough to stop dating the other three people.”

“Two,” Martin corrected, more out of habit than anything else. “So I’ve been unlucky. It happens.”

“Unlucky? That’s a tad more than unlucky.”

“Well, it’s not like that this time.”

“Of course not.” Thank God, Audrey was allergic to squabbles like this one. “Tell us about him. How long have you been dating?”

Martin took his time savoring the food. “Not long. Daniel’s kind of... we’re taking things slow.”

“Daniel?” His dad jumped in. “You’ve mentioned him before, haven’t you? He’s the one who took the dog.” Martin could see the moment his dad put the whole dog business together. “You bought him a dog? After knowing him two days?” 

“There’s more to it than that. I hit his dog with my car... Or it wasn’t his dog, but he was taking care of him. Just trust me, it’s not like it sounds.”

“Does he work long hours?” Audrey dipped a piece of bread in her soup. “I couldn’t imagine keeping a dog if I had to leave it alone all day.”

Martin kept his eyes on his father, anticipating a reaction to what he was about to say. “He’s not working at the moment.”

“Why would he? He knows you’ll pay for whatever he wants.”

Martin sighed and resolutely did not grind his teeth. “It’s not like that.” He may have enunciated for a little emphasis but he didn’t raise his voice. “He was in the Marine Corps and was wounded pretty badly. The Marines had him medically discharged and he’s not sure what he wants to do now.”

“Assuming that’s the truth.” 

“It is. I’ve seen the scars, the dog tags and the Purple heart.” 

The lull in conversation that followed felt deliberate on his dad’s part. When he did speak, it was as close to a peace offering as he ever came. “Marine, hmm?” The war movie buff in him was starting to show, even if the word came out as gruff as anything else he said.

“Yeah.” 

Martin had plowed through the first bowl of soup and started on the second one. Now that his father’s obligatory objections were out of the way, he could enjoy the homey feeling that usually accompanied meals at his dad’s house. 

He still hadn’t talked to Daniel, though. Last night’s fight had been a crappy way to end the day. Instead of recognizing Daniel’s admission that he minded the scars for the communication breakthrough that it was, Martin had acted like a clingy teenager, demanding more. 

His phone buzzed in his jeans’ pocket. Martin fished it out and Daniel’s name lit up the screen. “Hey.” He moved from the kitchen to the relative privacy of the living room.

“Hi.” The soothing, perpetually raspy lilt of Daniel’s voice had Martin pressing the phone closer to his ear. “I don’t know what I can say. I overreacted again. I’m not used to having people close. I’m not sure I know how anymore.”

No one at all? It wasn’t surprising, and yet Martin hadn’t realized the extent of Daniel’s isolation. What could he say to that? “I’m sorry too,” he said. “For pushing last night.”

“I can probably do with a little pushing sometimes. But I’ve been alone since before I was discharged from the Marines. Pretty much since I got out of the hospital.”

“But then you called me.” And it held so much more weight than he’d realized. To be the first to be let in, even just a little, in almost three years.

“Yeah.”

The following silence stretched beyond comfort and Martin cleared his throat. “I want to see you tonight. Kels and I are going out. You should come with us.”

 

The bar was not quite a dive, but not far from it either; spacious but dimly lit and the smell of beer hung in the air. Martin sank into the seat of the booth comfortably. It wasn’t a place they usually went to and it occurred to Martin that Kels might have chosen it with Daniel in mind. 

“No,” Martin said shortly after they sat down. “Sit on the other side.” 

Kels snorted but did as he was bid, the leather seat creaking as he moved. “Here you go, little girl. Better?”

Martin merely hummed, not rising to the bait. 

“Where is he anyway? I thought punctuality was like a _thing_ in the military.”

With a snort, Martin raised his pint to his lips. “Says the man who’s late to everything.”

“I’m not in the military.”

“Neither is Daniel. Not anymore.”

“Yeah, but he’s still got some of the mannerism. Or at least I assume they’re from the military.”

They didn’t get further on the topic – pointless as it was – because Daniel strolled in right then and slid into the booth on Martin’s left, just as the bustle in the place got louder.

 

By the end of the night – the end to their night, anyway; it was only one – it wasn’t Martin who got drunk enough to stuff his foot in his mouth. Kels slurred and wobbled and couldn’t get his feet to move well enough to carry him. 

That little detour Kels had taken with the twin sisters celebrating their 21st birthday had been the end of him. He’d returned to their table reeking of tequila. He would have face-planted into the solid table too, if it hadn’t been for Daniel’s quick reflexes.

Now they stood outside the bar in the cold air, guiding Kels into the cab. It was a shame, really. Martin had enjoyed sitting so close to Daniel and talking about nothing of significance. 

Still, he’d switched to water not long ago and now was not a bad time to go home. 

Lugging a giggling Kels up three flights of stairs could’ve been easier. It probably would have been if Daniel hadn’t stopped every couple of steps to chuckle at him. He might have been a little tipsy himself.

They managed to get Kels inside and into bed. 

“Sorry about him,” Martin said, shutting Kels’s door behind him. “He doesn’t usually drink like that.”

“It’s fine. I’ve seen a lot worse. Hell, I’ve been a lot worse more than once.” The cabbie was waiting outside, the car and meter still running. But Daniel leaned back against the wall in the hallway like he was in no hurry to leave. “Tonight was fun,” he said. “I’m glad I came.” 

With a smile, Martin turned to open the door to his place. “Me too.” 

Daniel didn’t move for a while. After a moment’s companionable silence, he raised himself off the wall and came closer. “The cab’s waiting,” he said, eyes darting from Martin’s eyes to his lips. 

“Yeah.” 

Daniel closed the rest of the space between them and brought his mouth nearly to Martin’s. Then he hesitated. Martin leant forward that last inch and kissed him. Lips slanting just over Daniel’s bottom one, bodies not nearly close enough for Martin.

Martin pushed the door open. “Do you want to come in?” Forget the stupid cab. Daniel could call a new one later, or better yet, spend the night. 

Daniel shook his head. “I don’t want to leave Rusty alone overnight.” After another peck, he smiled and headed for the stairs. Nearly there, he turned around and bit his lip. “But you could come with me.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really didn't take so long. It was fully written a month ago, but my beta has been absolutely swamped, the poor thing, and when I spoke to her today I figured I could post this un-betaread. So if you find anything glaring in there, don't hesitate to tell me. 
> 
> I'm sorry for the wait.

Daniel was not sober, but the alcohol had nothing to do with his hands being uncooperative. They didn’t shake – they never did – but his wrists and knuckles were tense and sheer will couldn’t wield them. Hyperaware of Martin’s presence just behind him, he finally got the key in the door. He lacked the courage to glance back, to invite Martin in like a civilized person. 

He untied his shoes with quick flicks of his fingers. His scuffed old pair of Converse had seemed fine when he’d gone out earlier that night, but now they felt as out of place as wearing combat boots with his dress blues. He felt like a teenager again – and not in a good way. Just a silly kid dressing up for a night out. 

Rusty bounded over, wagging not just his tail, but his whole backend as well. 

“Hey, buddy,” Daniel said, reaching over to rustle the coarse hair on his head. 

Martin hadn’t said anything since the cab ride, but then Daniel had barely been listening; too busy picturing his inevitable rejection. Thinking things through was not his strong suit when he’d been drinking. It probably wasn’t anybody’s, but most people didn’t get burnt to a crisp in Afghanistan and had thick, rough scars on forty-seven percent of their bodies. It wasn’t exactly sexy.

The door shut and Rusty scurried back inside. “I thought you said you shouldn’t bend down to greet him right away,” Martin said, voice light enough that if Daniel turned he was sure he’d see a smile.

“That’s true.” He couldn’t find a reason to continue keeping his back turned, now that his shoes were off and Rusty was gone. “As a rule. But he’s been alone all night.” He rubbed his lips together, until he realized it probably made him look ridiculous. “Moment of weakness.”

Martin’s grin stretched and the skin around his eyes crinkled. Martin took another step closer and Daniel resisted the urge to back up. His whole body tensed and his back was so straight he almost felt like he was standing to attention.

There was barely room to breathe between them. Slowly, Martin dipped forward and pressed his mouth to Daniel’s. 

Cool fingers dug into the skin on Daniel’s neck, and almost without thought Daniel parted his lips. Martin hummed, low in his throat, as if he’d never tasted anything better and took the last half-step into Daniel.

The muscles in his shoulders twitched, and the smacking sound their mouths were making drowned out the thrum of his pulse in his ears. He’d already shoved Martin’s jacket open and pinned his arms awkwardly with the sleeves when he couldn’t get it off. 

Martin pulled back and grinned. He slid out of the jacket and Daniel took the opportunity to flee inside. His stomach did a back-flip and when Martin walked in after him, his lips swollen and his cheeks flushed, it only increased.

Rusty looked up from where he lay snuggled on the couch, eyes half-closed. Even he wouldn’t interrupt them now.

Martin marched up to Daniel. Leaning in, he stroked his palm down Daniel’s cheek. “Do you still want to do this?” Trust him to notice Daniel’s hesitation.

“Yes.” Absolutely, he did. If only he didn’t have to take his shirt off.

The bedroom was less a room than a nearly-closed off portion of the living room and Martin had been there before as you had to walk through it to get to the bathroom. The bed was neatly made and the blinds on the egress window were open. It reflected no more or worse on Daniel than it had before, though he felt like it did. Like everything did. 

He sat down on the bed and looked up when the light came on. Martin ambled toward him, all broad shoulders and smooth skin. He looked as close to physical perfection Daniel could image.

The fluttering in his gut was melting into a pool of warmth and when Martin stopped in front of him, all Daniel had to do was tilt his head back and grab him by the neck. A ragged breath left Martin when their lips mashed together again. 

His head bent down, he towered over Daniel. The messy kiss halted for only a second as he removed Daniel’s jacket in one effortless motion. 

Heat spread through his limbs and Daniel was arching up to keep their lips locked. Martin’s hands stroked up his arm, then his shoulders and then popped the first button of Daniel’s shirt.

“Wait,” Daniel rasped. He sat back and untangled his arm from behind Martin’s head. “Just a heads up. The scars on my face aren’t the worst of them.” 

Martin’s eyes bore into his and he nodded. “Okay.” He brought his palm back up to caress the side of his face. “Okay?”

His teeth sank into his bottom lip and he nodded. “Yeah.” 

Martin’s lips were back and he opened his mouth to him. Now that Daniel let him, he couldn’t seem to stop kissing him. He pulled Martin onto the bed, getting back into their rhythm in no time. 

Martin unbuttoned the next one. It was like peeling off a bandage. Slow and torturous. Daniel just wanted it over with. But then there would be no going back. Then the next button.

“Wait,” Daniel said, pushing at Martin’s chest and not quite able to stop himself squirming underneath him. 

Martin raised himself up and waited. Daniel moved out from under him and hit the switch above the nightstand, killing the light. The blinds were still open and instead of pitch black, a dark blue hue lay over the room. He could make out Martin’s silhouette as his eyes adjusted but not much more than that.

He stayed near the headboard and the bed creaked as Martin moved to right himself as well. 

“All right now?” Martin asked, hovering over him. 

“Yeah.” 

“‘Cause you know we don’t have to do this.” Punctuated with a soft kiss that was over too quickly.

“I know.” Daniel sought his lips again.

As things got heated again Martin resumed working Daniel’s shirt open. The darkness wouldn’t hide the pitted feel to Daniel’s scars, but he tried to give himself over to the feel of Martin on top of him. It had been a long time and every spark of arousal seemed to come with a thread of anxiety as well. 

Martin ground against him, breathing into the kiss and Daniel’s skin burned in the wake of Martin’s palm. Their shirts were off and his jeans undone and his sharp intake of breath was so loud he was sure Martin could hear it. 

When Martin sat back to remove the jeans entirely, Daniel rolled out of them and onto his stomach, reaching up and wedging a stray pillow under his hips. A long, thick strip of scars covered about half his back, but he felt better with his chest down, the worst of the scars out of view. 

Martin wasn’t small. Even with careful preparation, it burned when he pushed into Daniel. To keep from making a sound, Daniel bit his wrist and squeezed his eyes shut. The friction from the pillow under his hips had felt so good before, but now he was half-limp. 

The condom wrapper crunched under his fingers as Martin put most of his weight on his arms and his movements stopped as he tossed it aside. 

He drew back and pushed in again. A loud exhale sounded just above Daniel’s ear. 

The slow, slick slide of him inside started to feel good. His cock filled again and with Martin’s next thrust, the friction was just right and he couldn’t hold back a moan.

A damp kiss to the back of his neck. Fingers biting into the flesh on his hip. “That’s it,” Martin’s breathed. “Let me hear you.” 

Still Daniel restrained himself as best he could. Martin’s pace picked up and his breathing turned quick and shallow. Their bodies flush together, Martin went in deeper and Daniel rubbed against the pillow. Once, twice. Reached his hand down and came. 

Martin groaned and continued to glide in and out. The slap of his hips against Daniel’s buttocks was obscenely loud in the otherwise silent room. With a pant, he finally came.

The pillowcase was probably ruined, but the last thing Daniel wanted to do right now was go throw in the wash. He chucked it to the floor as Martin got up to rid himself of the condom. 

Daniel crawled under the covers, relieved to find no wet spot on the sheets. 

The bed dipped with Martin’s weight. After a moment’s silence, where the only sound was their shared breathing calming with each second, the bed jostled again as Martin moved. Daniel stared ahead, his back to Martin. Martin’s fingers brushed over the ugliest part of the scars on Daniel’s back. 

“Did you-”

“Yeah.” So quiet, he barely heard it himself.

Martin continued tracing invisible patterns on Daniel’s back, over scars and  
smooth skin alike. Until Daniel burrowed deeper under the covers. Then the moving stopped but the fingers stayed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

Martin moved closer. Pressed his lips to the edge of the scar crawling up the back of Daniel’s shoulder. Whispered: “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Not really. If he could stop familiarizing himself with the rough texture of his scars, everything would be fine. “But I’d like to get dressed now.” He half-raised himself with intent to slink out of bed, but Martin grasped his hip.

“Why?” Spoken against his warm skin.

“You know why.”

“The scars? They don’t bother me.”

“But they bother me. I told you that.”

“Okay.” His grip relaxed and Daniel got up. “Do you want me to get dressed too?”

Daniel shook his head, pulling on a pair of boxer briefs, then realized the light was still off and he was further away now. Martin might not see him. “No. You can get dressed whenever you want.”

“Tomorrow then?”

In sweats and a T-shirt, Daniel crawled back in under the covers. “Yeah, if you want.” His left arm was still exposed, but sleeping in this would be hot enough without long sleeves. 

Silence descended and for a long while, they let it be. 

Then Martin said quietly: “Do you think you and I would have met if you hadn’t been in the Humvee that day?”

“I don’t know.” The space in the bed between them seemed simultaneously to be too far and not far enough. “Probably not.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long. Between work and the Euros I've barely had time to breathe. This part is unbetaed.

When Martin woke up the next morning, he was alone in Daniel’s bed. He dressed and stole a bit of mouthwash to gargle before he strolled out into the living room. 

The TV was on, the volume so low it was a mere buzz to Martin where he stood. Daniel was lying on the sofa, Rusty half on top of his legs as if staking his claim on him. It looked like they’d been there a while. 

“Hey.” Martin padded closer.

“Hey.” Daniel scarcely looked away from the TV, but Rusty shot up from his spot guarding Daniel’s legs and spared Martin a single glance before curling back into his spot. 

“Have you been up long?” If it had been three years since Daniel shared a bed with someone else, maybe that was what had driven him out of it.

Daniel sat up, despite the puppy’s whimpers. “Couldn’t sleep.” It wasn’t much of an answer. He could’ve been up for an hour, two, or the whole night as far as that statement went.

“Does that happen often?”

There was silence for a moment. Then: “Sometimes.”

“So it wasn’t me?” 

Turning the TV down even further, Daniel got up from the couch. “No. Wasn’t you.” 

To Martin’s surprise, he was still wearing the sweats and T-shirt from last night. His lips thinned and his shoulders tensed, as if he expected Martin to declare himself disgusted any moment now. 

The discolored arm had wrinkled ridges, the flesh twisted and splotchy. They didn’t look like the skin graft scars on his face; even the notched scars on his back felt smoother than these looked. It wasn’t disgusting, but it looked painful. Maybe not anymore, but it must have been.

“I could make breakfast. If you want.” His face didn’t gave much away, and maybe it was the scars, maybe it was the night before. Maybe it was something else entirely. Why did this have to be so hard? Last night had been fantastic; they were finally headed somewhere.

“Just some toast would be fine.” He trailed after Daniel into the kitchen, keeping his eye on him.

Daniel placed a couple of plates on the counter, then glanced up and caught Martin’s eyes on him. One corner of his mouth lifted in a little lopsided smile. 

As much as Martin knew that he should be taking things slow with Daniel, especially given how much happened last night, it was just so easy to give in. To lean in and press his lips to Daniel’s. 

Soft mouth under his, Martin drew closer. So close that he backed Daniel up against the counter, not an inch of space between them. Daniel’s fingers bit into his shoulder and Martin pressed harder, parting his lips and chasing after Daniel’s. His nose crushed awkwardly against Daniel’s cheek. 

What could have killed the moment didn’t. Martin quickly resituated his mouth over Daniel’s with a solid grasp on his hips to keep him just where he wanted him; flush against him and strong thigh between his legs.

Maybe Martin had been too careful. Maybe he could’ve had heated fumbles like this for much longer. His fingers strayed from Daniel’s hips, up and under his t-shirt, fingertips brushing over uneven flesh.

“Stop.” Spoken as quietly as always but Martin knew a command when he heard one. Apparently he could go in for as many kisses as he wanted as long as he kept his hands to himself. 

Detangling himself from Daniel, Martin didn’t know what to say. This was already a lot more work than a brand new relationship had any right to be and this constant dance they did was starting to grate. It felt like every time he managed to chip away at Daniel’s self-imposed wall, there was another taller one behind it. He sighed, unable to help himself.

“I know you mean well. I get it; the scars don’t bother you, but since you know they bother me, constantly bringing my attention to them is not helping.”

Martin busied himself with slotting two pieces of bread into the toaster. “That’s not what I was doing. I had no motive for touching beyond wanting to. And I haven’t really seen the full extent of your scars. I know it bothers you, but it’s not so easy not to touch them.” He winced once the words were out. That came out all wrong.

“I realize you have more attractive options who probably wouldn’t mind, but it’s my body and what I say goes.”

Rusty perked up. The commanding voice Daniel used was probably the same one he disciplined the dog with. 

“That came out wrong. I’m not saying I’m entitled. It’s just you’ve got a lot of scars...” His shoulders sagged and he pushed his palm flat against the table. “That came out wrong too.”

To Martin’s surprise, the huff of breath that left Daniel was more of a chuckle than a sound of true irritation. “I do have a lot of scars. I’m just not comfortable with all the caressing, okay?”

Martin nodded. “Yeah.” Still, somehow he felt this was progress. 

 

When he got home, Martin took an hour long nap. There was always something about sleeping in someone else’s bed for the first time. He never had any problem falling asleep but he never stayed that way for long.

It was just after lunch when Kels came bounding in, phone pressed to his ear, looking way too chipper for someone who should be half-dead of a hangover. 

He held the phone away from his ear for a second. “Hey,” he said to Martin. “You think you can get off work Thursday and Friday?”

“Probably not. Why?”

But Kels was already back on the phone. “Skerts says probably not. But you’re in, right?... Great. See you Thursday.” He hung up and plopped down next to Martin on the couch. 

Only half-paying attention to the sitcom rerun on TV, Martin sunk further into the couch. Lazy Sundays were the best. “What’s happening on Thursday?”

“Daniel and I are going to Vegas. Amateur poker tournament.”

Martin turned his head a little too fast. Completely unsubtle if Kels’ grin was anything to go by. “Las Vegas? You and Daniel?”

The grin stretched wider. “Yeah. Sounds fun, right? You sure you can’t get off work?”

“I’ll check.”

Not that it’d be money well spent or anything, but fun sounded like exactly what he and Daniel needed right now. And maybe it would keep him from rushing into the ‘serious’ stage too quickly this time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait again. No excuse this time. 
> 
> This part is unbetaed and all mistakes are mine.

After Daniel decided against leaving Rusty in the care of his upstairs neighbors who were rarely home themselves, Martin suggested they leave him with his father instead. 

It was something of an imposition if Martin’s tone when speaking to the man had been any indication. But his step mother had smoothed things over and Daniel was a little relieved to know that Martin’s old man wouldn’t even be there when they dropped Rusty off.

Rusty went sniffing around the bushes as soon as Daniel let him out of the car. It was too hot out, sun burning up Daniel’s pale skin and beads of sweat trickled down his back under his thick sweatshirt. 

Martin led the way and when they reached the door, Daniel whistled once and Rusty bounded over. 

Daniel didn’t squirm, but it was only by sheer will alone. There was too much implication in meeting a parent. Even if it was only a step-mother, if that considering that Martin had been at least 20 years old when his dad remarried. 

Still, Audrey was polite and hid whatever reaction she might have had to Daniel’s scars quickly enough that he didn’t catch it.

After an introduction and a firm handshake, she bent down to coo at Rusty, whose ears perked up but he made no move beyond the foyer. Fuck, this was awkward. The only good thing at the moment was that no one’s attention was on Daniel, which was exactly the way he liked it.

Once they stepped inside, some of Daniel’s carefully hidden unease lifted. The house was old; that much was clear from the outside. But inside, it felt lived in. Clutter on the walls and the shelves, a half-unfolded blanket lying on the sofa and the kitchen furbished with dark wood cabinets that had gone out of style decades ago. It was almost like walking into his parents house, though he hadn’t been there since the week after his discharge from the Marines.

Martin handed off containers with Rusty’s good, along with Daniel’s instructions on Rusty’s care. He glanced his way, apparently mid-conversation with his step-mother. 

Situational awareness was second nature to Daniel by now. Unable to turn it off, he attempted to dial it down a little and instinctually came to stand at parade rest a foot or two from where Martin stood. 

At a natural lull in their conversation, Audrey turned to look at him and smiled. “No matter what your father says, I have no trouble believing he was a soldier.” 

“Marine. Ma’am.” Damn it. That was exactly the kind of knee-jerk reaction he’d wanted to avoid. 

But Martin merely sported a grin, impossibly attractive and much more accepting than Daniel really deserved. “I did that too, at first, but once I’d been corrected about eight times, I realized Marines don’t like being called soldiers. Apparently it’s a different branch.” 

After thoroughly shooting himself in the leg, Daniel really just wanted out of there. They bid Rusty and Audrey farewell and despite a desire to sprint, Daniel found himself walking next to Martin toward the car.

Martin started the car and Daniel eyed him for a brief second. “I’m sorry,” he said, and the words didn’t come any easier now than they had last time he’d had to explain to Martin. “It’s just... I didn’t go through months of boot camp, SOI and then dealt with outdated equipment, limited funding and whatever else the Army always had long before us, to be called a soldier.” He bit his lip. “I know it sounds elitist and arrogant—”

“It is.”

Daniel chuckled. “Yeah, maybe it is.”

“But don’t worry, it suits you.”

It surprised a snort out of him. “Being elitist and arrogant suits me? I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”

“Neither. I just think a little cockiness suits you.”

It cemented the smile on his lips for the next few minutes.

 

Daniel had been to Vegas before, five or six years earlier with a couple of guys from his unit, but he didn’t remember it being so artificial. And yet it was a remarkable sight, even if it was all harsh lights and fake glamour. 

The hotel looked nice and Kels was practically bouncing with excitement when they went to the counter to check in. 

Less than 10 minutes later, Kels went to his room, leaving Daniel and Martin to navigate the slight awkwardness of being alone in their own. Maybe it wouldn’t be if Daniel’s eyes weren’t automatically drawn to the single bed in the room. Granted, it was king sized, but on a slight raise from the floor as if the most important thing in the room. That might have been the intention; this was Vegas, after all. 

“So.” Martin sprawled on the bed, not looking awkward in the least. “Confession: I didn’t ask for twin beds, I just sort of assumed...”

Finding the last shred of confidence buried somewhere deep, Daniel smirked. “Assumed what? That they’d give us a room with two beds or that I wouldn’t mind sharing the one?”

Martin’s answering smile disarmed the rest of the raw nerves Daniel hadn’t managed to quell. “The former, though I’d hoped for the latter.” His Adam’s apple bumped up and down with his swallow, slow and sensual. 

No. The nerves were still there, tight and squeezing. But Daniel had a lid on it. He hoped. Even though he couldn’t take his eyes off Martin. At least, there was something to be said for the relative cover of his baseball cap. “Should we go find Kels and get shitfaced, or what?” 

 

After getting something to eat, they hit the bars. 

“Your voice,” Kels said about three beers in. “Has it always been like that or is it because—” He grumbled when Martin elbowed him. “Ow. What? I’m asking the man a question. Jesus.”

Daniel smiled. “It’s fine, Martin.” And to his surprise, it really was. “And no, my voice wasn’t always like that. A lot of scarring and a lot of smoke inhalation. I briefly considering putting on a black mask and cape, and having James Earl Jones speak for me.”

When that got him the laugh he was going for – and a fond smile from Martin – Daniel smirked. Kels was all right.

The rest of the night they spent on similar notes, some drinking and a lot of laughing, but Daniel only got drunk to a certain level. Sloppy drunk wasn’t something he did anymore. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Kels being a perfect – and quite entertaining – example of that at the moment. Slurring every third word and generally speaking as if his tongue was two sizes too big for his mouth.

They even managed to deposit Kels in his room without him inviting half the bar with him, which was apparently something that happened sometimes.

And maybe Daniel was a little drunker than he’d thought. When Martin pushed him against the door as soon as it closed behind him and tugged his cap off, he didn’t move. If Martin wanted him here, he’d stay here. Something hot coiled in his stomach under Martin’s stare and the next moment, Martin’s mouth was on his, nipping and licking his way in.

The taste of hops and heat spread through him. So physically in the moment that for a few seconds, he forgot his mangled skin and could only remember the feeling of Martin’s lips on his. 

Martin mouthed at his jaw, stubble scratching against skin. “I’ve been wanting to do that since we got here.” 

His brain was too foggy, and it might’ve been the alcohol or it might’ve been the way all of Martin was pressed against him. “Then why didn’t you?” His voice came out rougher than usual.

A delectable noise sounded in the back of Martin’s throat and Daniel moved, seizing Martin’s lips under his again. 

With a half-moan that might have been due to the shove against the wall, Martin detached himself as best he could from Daniel. “Wait.”

Daniel felt drunk again and not in a good way. “Sorry. I used to be good at this.” He’d been attractive and he’d known it. Picking up a guy and reducing him to a begging puddle of desire was not quite easy, but it had been an art he’d excelled at. He’d been discreet, of course, because if given a choice between being out and being a Marine, he’d choose Marine every time. 

Martin’s calloused fingers brushed over the side of his neck as he leaned back in. “You still are.” His voice was low, his breath sweeping over Daniel’s lips. “It’s just that the edge of the mirror was digging into my back.”

He didn’t get it. Of course he wouldn’t. He hadn’t known Daniel before the IED. And despite having had to relearn half his face, the left corner of his mouth included, Daniel refused to take pride in the fact he still knew how to kiss. That wasn’t the point. Four years ago, he’d have had Martin his way ages ago.

And would probably never have seen him again. 

Maybe it didn’t matter that Martin didn’t get it. It was already better this way, even though he’d had to expose more of himself than he was used to.

Once they’d found their way over to the bed, breathing hard and all but rutting against each other, Martin made as if to remove Daniel’s T-shirt. With a sharp inhale, Daniel tensed. 

Martin stopped moving and pulled back enough to look him in the eyes. “Do you want to leave it on?”

Even if Martin really didn’t mind the scars, Daniel couldn’t help how he hated them. They made him feel less than he used to be; less than he should still be. He let his eyes fall closed and nodded. “Yeah.”

 

A headache brewed steadily behind Daniel’s eyes before he’d even opened them. Behind him, he heard Martin stir. When an arm snaked over him, but Martin continued to sleep, Daniel slipped out of bed. 

He’d showered, changed and brushed his teeth by the time Martin awoke. 

They met Kels for a late breakfast. Over idle chat about poker and movies and whatever else they thought of, they took their time and once Daniel had drained his glass of orange juice to wash down the eggs and bacon, his headache had lessened to a mild irritant. 

They were on their way out when out of the corner of his eyes, Daniel caught a familiar face. Inclined to let it go unaddressed, he kept walking. 

“Daggs?” The recognition Daniel hadn’t made on seeing his face came full force in hearing his voice and its thick Southern accent. And the name he hadn’t been called in a long time. “Well, shit, sergeant. How are you?”

“Not sergeant anymore, Gunny,” Daniel said and realized that he’d unconsciously stepped away from Martin. “I’m good.” Awkward couldn’t begin to cover the feeling raging in his chest. On top of not knowing what to say, he couldn’t quite figure out how to stand either. “What brings you to Vegas?” He was vaguely aware of Martin and Kels keeping a respectful distance, but they were talking quietly among themselves. 

“Same as everyone else, I expect.” Gunny Mills smirked. “Gambling. We should grab a drink later.” He glanced at the Martins. “Your boys can join us, of course.” He shook Daniel’s hand belatedly and was on his way.

 

Daniel made 800 dollars in the poker tournament that evening and Kels about half that before they called it quits and left.

Back at the hotel, Martin unlocked the door to their room and said nothing for a while. He’d kept two steps away from Daniel for the rest of the day. Or maybe it was the other way around. It was hard to tell.

“You’re not out, are you?” 

He almost played it dumb, but Martin was smarter than that. He wouldn’t buy it. “To the Marines. No.”

Martin sat on the edge of the bed and several expression chased each other across his face, but none long enough to guess what he was thinking. “So none of your friends know about you? About us?”

Now who was playing it dumb? “I don’t know how you’ve managed not to notice, but I don’t have any friends.”

“You seemed pretty buddy-buddy with that Marine today.”

Picking up clothes from the floor to avoid looking in Martin’s direction, Daniel said: “Gunny Mills? Haven’t seen him since I left Pendleton. Even then we weren’t friends. We were colleagues. It’s just a different sort of bond that forms in combat than stocking shelves and selling hardware.”

When silence reigned for a better part of a minute, he’d thought he’d maybe said it wrong. He hadn’t meant to take a swipe at Martin’s job, merely to make a comparison. 

But then Martin spoke, his voice quiet. “I’m your friend.”

“Doesn’t count. We’re not just friends.”

“Kels is your friend.” 

Daniel looked up. “I guess so.”

And Martin smiled, once again proving to be a lot better to Daniel than Daniel was to him. “You could do worse.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is not turning out at all the way I planned (and this has been true for quite some time), but now it has reached the point where I don't know whether it will be 16 parts after all. Still, it's not over yet, so here's the next part.
> 
> This part (and probably all the remaining ones) are unbeta'd.

In the weeks since their trip to Vegas, Daniel had continued to crawl out of his shell, little by little. They were comfortable enough with each other that Martin could enter Daniel’s little basement apartment without knocking, though this was the first time he did it without calling ahead beforehand.

Stacks of books lined the floor, as high as Martin’s waist, and behind them Daniel stood facing the almost empty bookshelves. 

“Spring cleaning?” Martin said. 

Daniel turned with a small smile. “It’s not really spring anymore, is it?” He shook his head in reply to his own question. “No. My parents are flying in tomorrow before driving up to see my brother in Boston.”

Martin sat down on the couch. “And you’re rearranging your books because...?”

“Some of these are my dad’s. Returning them leaves holes and I just... I don’t know.” He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“Need help?”

Daniel shook his head. “Not right now.”

With little else to do, Martin took a seat on the couch, above Rusty where he sat watching Daniel. He glanced up briefly at Martin’s intrusion but was familiar enough with him by now that he didn’t bother to move. 

On the coffee table, Daniel’s wooden chest lay closed. Martin gestured towards it. “You going to get mad if I look through this again?”

Daniel’s movements slowed just a little. So little that if Martin hadn’t been watching him he probably wouldn’t have noticed it. “No.” 

“You can tell me not to, if that makes you more comfortable.”

With a half a shrug, Daniel dove back into rearranging his books. “No. It’s fine. There’s nothing much in there aside from what you saw last time. A couple of old pictures maybe.” 

That was true enough, Martin discovered when he opened the box and found the Purple Heart in its case and the dog tags bundled in a corner. But under them, he found a picture of a younger Daniel. In full combat gear, rifle slung over his shoulder and a beautiful smile on his face. He had an arm around another Marine. It was obviously an old photo – as Daniel couldn’t have been more than 20 years old in it – but aside from a little crease in one edge of it, it was in good shape. “Who’s that in the picture with you?” 

Daniel didn’t even need to turn around and look. “Curtis,” he said with finality and Martin sensed right away that he wouldn’t say any more about it. 

“You look young here.”

“I was 19,” Daniel said.

Nineteen and armed. When Martin was nineteen he could barely be trusted to look before crossing the road. To march off to war and be responsible for a firearm and his actions with it seemed surreal. He’d barely begun the thought when there was a knock on the door and he got up to get it. 

On the doorstep a middle-aged man and woman stood, both of them a head shorter than Martin. “Oh,” the man said, his brow furrowing. “Don’t tell us the boy moved and didn’t tell us.”

“What boy?” Martin said.

“Daniel.”

Martin smiled. These were probably the parents. A day early. “No. He still lives here. I’m just visiting.” He opened the door wider to let them in. “I’m Martin. Nice to meet you.”

They quickly surmised he was not just a friend and broke out into delighted talk. “A boyfriend. Daniel’s never introduced us to anyone before. Well, he only came out last year, but still, he could’ve brought someone home and called them friend,” his mother said, swiveling about. “There he is.” She spotted Daniel coming toward them. “Why didn’t you tell us about this handsome man of yours?”

As Daniel was wrestled into a hug by first his mother, then his father, Martin found that he looked like neither of them. He was too tall, and his features were finely drawn whereas his parents were of a larger build. Not fat, but big-boned with rounder faces.

Rusty barked his displeasure, then sat at the door. When his master ignored it, he barked again and pawed at the door. Daniel sighed. “All right, you mutt, I’m coming.” He took a step back and Martin couldn’t read his expression. He seemed neither happy nor unhappy by the ambush. “I gotta let the dog out for a bit.” But his reluctance to leave the three of them alone together was clear as day. He glanced between them all and even kept an eye on them while putting his shoes on. 

When Daniel was gone, the parents chatted on. They were so different from him that Martin couldn’t help but remark on it. 

“We adopted him when he was just a baby,” his father said. “I sometimes wondered if that was why he joined the Marines in the first place. We were still undecided on whether we should tell him but we should have known he’d figure it out himself.”

Martin tried to wrap his head around it. “And he joined the Marines shortly after?”

“No, no. But our relationship changed and he started talking about going back to Denmark and joining the Danish Army when he was old enough. I tried to deter him. Begged him not to go. And in a way he didn’t, but he came home one day, nearly bursting with excitement. He’d enlisted in the Marines.”

And still it was a huge chunk to try and slot into what Martin knew of Daniel. “You didn’t want him in the military?”

The front door shut and they all looked up to see Daniel standing over them. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them so disappointed.” His voice was distant as if he wasn’t standing two feet away.

Immediately his mother moved into damage control. “We thought it was a reaction to finding out you were adopted. But in time we knew it wasn’t. You seemed to really find yourself. And it wasn’t easy for any of us, but it was what you wanted.”

His dad jumped in then. “And we were and are proud of you. Marine or not.”

Daniel didn’t even look Martin’s way, acted as if he wasn’t even there. “All right. All right. Let’s shut off the Lifetime channel now.”

His father smiled and his mother shook her head fondly. 

As the evening wore on, they continued conversing but Martin couldn’t mistake the frost coming off Daniel. He didn’t need to guess that he was none too happy that Martin had pried into his life. It wasn’t fair. 

Not willing to bear it longer, Martin made an excuse about an early morning and made to leave. He’d jogged up two of the five concrete steps outside the apartment when Daniel exited the door. 

“Why couldn’t you just wait?” Daniel said. “I would have told you. About Curtis and the PTSD. All of it.”

But Martin didn’t know about either of those things. “When would you have told me? Because we’ve been dating for four months and I’ve never heard you say a word about either of those things.”

“Those _things_ were the worst period of my life. And I was the worst version of myself. The nightmares, the wild eyes, the jumping at nothing. Would you share that? I know you wouldn’t.”

Martin, still half up the steps, spread his arms. “You can’t know that. I’ve told you everything there is to know about me.”

“And you know what the worst thing about you is? You work a menial job. That’s it. That’s the worst thing about you. You know what the worst thing about me is? I’ve killed people. Shot a guy right between the eyes. And why? Because if I hadn’t, he might’ve shot me. Or he might’ve just been a fucking villager on his way to work but they declared everyone hostile and I still don’t know if he died because he was Fedayeen or just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Martin stood stunned, shoulders sagging. “You’re a contradiction, you know that? You love the Marines. That’s been clear to me from day one. And I don’t doubt that what you’re saying is true. But why are you using it to push me away? I don’t care that you had PTSD or however bad any of it might have been. I love you. This man. And I don’t believe there are any other versions.”

But Daniel shook his head, voice calm and clear when he said: “You don’t love me. You’re one of the nicest people I’ve known, but as you’ve made abundantly clear now, you don’t know me.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering the mess I've made of my original plan, this will be the last part of this story. It's not the most concrete ending, but some big steps are taken, so I've decided to leave it be before I really ruin it.

Daniel regretted his blow up two days later. Really, he regretted it the moment he watched Martin walk away, but two days later he got to the point where he had to do something about it.

He tried calling Martin, and when that didn’t work he sent a short message: _I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything if you let me._ When he didn’t have an answer a couple of hours later, he set out with Rusty, walking over to Martin’s place. 

It wasn’t until Martin opened the door that Daniel felt nervous. 

“Hey.” Martin almost smiled. “I was just about to call you.” He held the door open, the sleeve of his employee T-shirt riding up his bicep. Right, it was his weekend down at the hardware store. 

That was stupid. Daniel should’ve known that. But he supposed he could make an ass of himself a second time, if it meant keeping Martin. “I’m sorry.”

Martin nodded. “Yeah. You said.”

“I realized afterwards that you didn’t actually know about Curtis or the PTSD. It was unfair of me to blow up like that.”

Halfway down the hallway, Martin turned a furrowed brow his way. “What if I had known? Would it have been okay then?”

“No. Look, I’m not good at this.”

Martin smile looked thin. “That’s true.”

With a spring in his step, Rusty followed Martin to the living room. Daniel inhaled and followed. “It wasn’t really about the PTSD. I mean it was, but it wasn’t.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It was the worst of me, and I don’t like to talk about it. But mostly, I didn’t want you to know because it just feels like another thing that makes you much better than me.” Daniel swallowed. “I’m afraid that once you figure that out you’ll leave me.” 

Martin’s fake smile and casual stance faltered. “Why would I? I know you’ve had problems. Big ones, but aside from trying to push me away every couple of months, you’ve never treated me poorly.”

“It’s not that easy. I may not have treated you badly, but it’s not like I went out of my way to be good to you.” He cooked for him once in a while but that was about it. “But I should have. I don’t know if you really love me, if you even can since it’s true that you don’t know me that well--”

“I know what kind of person you are.” For a stretched few seconds it was all Martin said. “The kind that takes care of other people’s pets, lies to old ladies about the suffering their dogs went through, treats his own like a best friend and carries drunken Kellys to their rooms laughing instead of complaining. You have trouble connecting with people, and you’re terrified of rejection. When you have nightmares you slink out of bed and don’t sleep.” He frowned. “I don’t think you could list that many about me.”

Daniel nodded. “I probably couldn’t. But I want to be able to.” Silence followed and the hard set to Martin’s shoulder seemed to ease a bit. “I do try, but I can do better. I can be better.”

Martin’s lips twisted into a grimace. “You don’t have to be better. There’s nothing wrong with the way you are. Except maybe the self doubt. But I have no guarantee that the next time I hear something unpleasant about you, you’ll bolt again or make me do it.”

With a shallow exhale, Daniel sat down on the couch. “I can’t promise I won’t. But you know the worst already.” He couldn’t look Martin in the eye.

The couch dipped when Martin sat too. “The man you killed?” His voice was quiet, barely louder than a whisper.

His throat felt tighter. “Yeah. There was a change in the ROE just before we rolled through town in the dead of night. There weren’t many people around and our night optics were so crappy they were almost useless. He was carrying something that in the moment I took for an AK. I didn’t even mean to shoot him in the head; I meant to shoot him in the shoulder. First time I killed a man and I’m not even sure I should have.”

Martin swallowed audibly. “You made it sound worse the other night. Not that shooting anyone sounds good to me, but at least it sounds like an honest mistake.”

“Honest or not, it messed me up. And a couple of weeks later, Curtis died in Fallujah. That one really fucked me up. I came home and I was wound up and jumping at nothing. Couldn’t sleep. Used to just walk around the house aimlessly. Sitting still just felt weird.” He drew strength from his shaky exhale. “I still have dreams of Curtis dying, but it changes. Sometimes it’s just us, cut off and out of options. Sometimes it’s like it went down. Parked on a rooftop when the bomb when off.”

In the weighty stillness that followed, Daniel glanced toward Martin, whose gaze never left Daniel’s face. “Were you and Curtis...?”

Daniel closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. No, it wasn’t like that. He was my friend.”

“But you loved him.” It wasn’t exactly a statement but it wasn’t a question either. 

“Like a brother.”

“I’m sorry.”

Daniel nodded. “Me too. It was a long time ago. And it got less hard, but it’s always going to be there. It’s just part of who I am now.”

“I like who you are.”

His chest felt tight now too, but he managed a weak smile. “I know you do. It’s my favorite thing about you; you accept everything, the good and the bad.”

That evening, as they made up properly, Daniel lead the way into Martin’s bedroom. Martin kissed him and kissed him again, before reaching to turn on the lamp on the nightstand. 

This time, Daniel didn’t hesitate to take his shirt off. Although he already knew Martin wouldn’t run, he found himself finally relax, relieved that Martin stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really happy with this, but it's up and it's over with, so there's no point doing anything about it now. To be honest, I should've planned it better and definitely should have written it first, then posted.
> 
> Anyway, there's bits I really like, though, so I hope someone else does as well. Thank you very much for reading.


End file.
